The Forgotten Night
by BlueBird98
Summary: James Sirius Potter has a steamy dream that turns out to be not-so-fictional. But can he remember it?


__**AN:** This is a post-Potter fanfiction. So, the James Potter is Harry's son, not his father.

**Disclaimer: **Copyright JK Rowling and whoever else deserves credit.

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_James was tumbling about in the bed sheets with a Gryffindor girl. Their lips were locked as they rolled around. She wrapped her leg around his and all that James felt was complete and perfect bliss. He felt her hand in his hair, and he opened his eyes to see Sarah Addams._

James woke in a cold sweat. That was a strange dream, a strange, but good, dream. He had fancied Sarah for a few years, but their relationship was a very polite one. Neither was friendly with the other, much to James's dismay, but they would exchange polite conversation were one to initiate it. But, that's all James had been able to get- opinions on the weather, remarks about the holidays, concerns about the upcoming potions exam, and so on. He always wanted more, but she was the definition of a good girl, and he wasn't sure how to impress her.

A rustle from the sheets next to him shook him from his thoughts, and he whipped his head around to see someone next to him, looking up at him from where her head lay on the pillow. Upon James looking at her, she picked her head up and sat leaning against the headboard. Sarah Addams stared at him, looking slightly embarrassed, waiting for him to say something.

James simply stared until she spoke, her voice quiet.

"Um, hi." She said softly. Her breath smelled of firewhiskey, and his mouth tasted like it. After the immediate shock wore off, James recovered.

"Hi." He said. He looked her over. She had definitely spent the night there: her hair proved it; it wasn't its usual silkiness, but it wasn't as bad as one might expect. She was wearing his Quidditch shirt. At the same time, he realized he wasn't wearing a shirt. Panic swept over him, and it didn't go away when he saw his pants hanging off of one of the bedposts. How far had they gone? James couldn't be sure, but his guess: that dream he had was only the foreplay. The strangest part about their whole situation was that, apart from the flashes in what he now realized wasn't a dream, he couldn't remember a thing about that night. 'Figures,' he thought, 'the one time I manage to get somewhere with this girl, and I can't even remember how I did it.' He decided to speak, though he had no clue what he was gong to say.

"Um, Sarah. This is kind of embarrassing but…"

"Yes?" she asked. How was he supposed to tell her he didn't remember what happened. He couldn't. So instead…

"I'm going to need that shirt back." He gave an apologetic smile.

"Oh. Sure." She wasn't sure what she had been expecting him to say, but that was not it. However, it _was_ conversation, and that was better than sitting in silence. She slipped his shirt over her head; it still smelled like him. She was left in a small white tank top.

"Thanks." James said awkwardly, and slipped the shirt back over his head. They were once again silent, until she spoke up.

"You don't remember what happened tonight, do you?" she asked. It took James by surprise, but he thought it best to be straightforward.

"If I'm honest? No." He waited for her to leave, because that's what he expected she'd do. Her reaction, however, was completely unexpected.

"Thank god." She exhaled. "I don't either. I'm just glad I'm not the only one." James sat up in the bed.

"So, neither of us remember what happened?"

Sarah shrugged. "Just flashes." She sighed. "How did we even get to this?" James raised his eyebrows.

"Do you not want to be here?"

"No, it's not that. Look, you're a really nice boy, and I like you and all, but I don't do this." She gestured to both of them.

"Yeah, I don't normally do this either. Well, I do, but not with you."

"Oh? And why not with me?" she teased. "Am I not good enough for you?"

"It's not that, it's just…" The only reason he hadn't done this with her was because he couldn't find the courage to ask, but he could hardly tell her that. "You have a good girl reputation to uphold. I didn't want to screw with that."

"That's… considerate." She thought about what he just said. "Did we…Did we go, you know… all the way?" James looked at her.

"I think so."

"Yeah. Me too." It was silent. Then, she chuckled.

"What?" he asked.

"Nothing. It's just…" Her voice trailed off. "It figures. I can't even remember and it was my-" She stopped herself.

"Your what?" he asked, interest perked.

"Nothing. Forget it." She was blushing.

"Your what?"

"I said forget it."

"Your first time?"

"Shut up." She said, embarrassed.

"I was your-"

"Yes. Now can you leave it?" James may've been smiling, but inside, he was beaming ear to ear.

"All right." His smile slowly faded, as he got lost deep in thought. She looked at him, puzzled.

"What?" she asked.

"I just…"

"What?"

"I wish I could remember it."

"Oh, stop it." She hit him with a pillow.

"I'm serious." He replied, earnestly. "It's not something I'd want to forget."

"I don't even know how I did." She remarked, mostly to herself.

"Was it good?" she asked. "What you remember? Was _I_ good?" James' eyes widened. He couldn't respond to that. He couldn't say anything without having it come out wrong. He gave a big yawn.

"I'm sort of tired. Maybe we can talk about this tomorrow, or, you know, never."

"No. We're talking about this now, or… or you can just leave." She gestured to the door.

"Nah."

"What?"

"I think I'll stay."

"No, leave. Now." She stood up from the bed, and grabbed a blanket to wrap around herself. James, meanwhile, laid back down, his arms outstretched with his hands under his head.

"If you don't want to be here, you leave." He remarked.

"I'm not leaving."

"Nor am I."

"Fine."

"Fine."

When it got quiet, their eyes met, and they broke out into laughter. Sarah laid down next to James, and they both stared at the ceiling.

"How did we get to this?" He asked.

"I'm really not sure." Then, after a moment of thought, "Do you want to be here?" James thought for a moment; of course he wanted to be here.

"I'd rather not say." "Blimey, you're not answering anything tonight, are you? Just answer the question."

"I refuse."

"You can't refuse." She replied, chuckling.

"Of course I can." He looked back at her. "I'm James Potter, son of the Boy Who Lived, The Chosen One, grandson of one of the four Marauders."

"I'll let you in on a little secret." She whispered. "You're not like **your** family." Their faces got closer and closer, until they were so close James could feel Sarah's breath. They almost touched, when Sarah pulled away, and stared back at the ceiling.

"So," she said, "What do _you_ think happened tonight?"

"I think," he replied, with mock arrogance, "I walked by you, and you couldn't take it anymore. You flung yourself at me, and I simply couldn't refuse."

"Is that so?" she asked, incredulously.

"Yeah. I tend to have that effect on women."

"Is that what I am? Another girl to add to your long list?" James gave a slight smile.

"You? No… not quite."

"Oh, I'm special?"

"Yeah, I suppose."

"Neat." There was a long pause. Neither of them spoke.

"Well," Sarah sighed. "I suppose you should get going."

"What? Why?"

"We've had our fun. Unless you think it wouldn't be at all strange to just… jump back on the horse. And by horse, I mean-"

"I know what you mean," he added quickly, "but thanks for the mental image. And anyway, I can't exactly leave."

"Why not?"

"Well, it's late, and I'd risk Filch catching me."

"But, you're not going in the halls. We're both in Gryffindor, remember?"

"Yeah, but I haven't been sleeping in my dormitory. Mitchell sort of singed the room practicing a spell last week. He did a right job of it, too. They're saying it'll take days to repair it, even magically." Sarah raised her eyebrows.

"So where have you been sleeping?"

"They've got us in one of the empty classrooms. Set up beds and everything. Not that we'll really be needing it. Everyone's home on holiday, except me. So, you see, I simply can't go. If Filch catches me, I'm done for." He knew Filch did not pose a threat, for his invisibility cloak was always kept in his pocket.

"Then I suppose you're staying here tonight." "I suppose so."

"All right."

"I should warn you. I don't wear much when I sleep."

"Come now, after tonight? Is that really a problem?"

"I suppose you're right." He reached over the bed, grabbed his pants and pulled them on. Then, for the second time that night, he stood up, and stripped off his Quidditch jersey. It smelled of dirt, and sweat, and, well, him. Sarah picked her head up, and fixed her pillow. James crossed the room slowly, looking around, as if he was hoping to see something that would jog his memory as to the events of that night. He wandered over to a chest by the door. Thrown on top of it was what looked like a crumpled up piece of clothing. James picked it up thinking maybe it was his. After picking it up, however, he soon realized that was not the case. He held in his hands a shirt, petite enough to belong to Sarah, but this small white button-up had a very large amber stain spreading across its entire front. His eyes widened. The memories of that night came flooding back.

. . .

Earlier that night…

James had just gotten back from Quidditch practice. Gryffindor was throwing a holiday party for anyone who had stayed over for the holidays. Normally, James would've gone home, but he begged his parents to stay as soon as he had heard that Sarah Addams was staying. That particular night, James was ready to relax, and so he grabbed a firewhiskey from a table full of them, and walked around the crowded room until he found empty wall space he could lean on.

The night went on, and James was on his third firewhiskey by the time he started to feel a little tipsy. He got up from the seat he had taken on the arm of a couch, and stumbled over to the table to refill his freshly emptied glass. He didn't even notice Sarah Addams sitting in an armchair across from him, nursing her second firewhiskey, a very daring drink for a girl of her variety. James turned around just as Sarah stood up, and his now full drink emptied onto her shirt.

"Oh, bloody hell. I'm sorry." James spoke in a slightly slurred voice.

"Oh, no, it's fine. I should've seen you coming. I guess that's the alcohol working." Sarah replied in a slightly more slurred voice.

"Here, let's- let's get you cleaned up. And, you know, out of this bloody crowd." He deposited the empty glass into the hand of the nearest student, grabbed Sarah's hand, and pushed his way through the crowds to the staircase leading towards the girl's dormitory. Sarah stopped him.

"Wait, you can't go up the stairs. They're bewitched." But, James only smiled.

"I've learned a trick or two from my Uncle George." "George? George Weasley? Owner of the joke shop?"

"Yeah, my mum's brother."

"Wow! That's amazing."

Come on." James climbed the stairs, leading Sarah along behind him.

At the top of the stairs, Sarah led James to her room. She opened the door, and at that moment, she was glad her roommates had all gone home over break. She moved over to her dresser to get another shirt. James meandered over to a chest, on top of which sat a music box he inspected.

"Damn." He heard Sarah mutter.

"Everything alright, darling?" He wandered over to where she was standing. Her maroon and gold tie was off, flung over her shoulder. Her shirt was unbuttoned, but her back was to him, so she exposed nothing.

"I've just remembered: all my shirts have gone in the wash. I was doing some holiday cleaning…" Her voice trailed off as she swore under her breath. Perhaps if they had been thinking straight, either one of them might've just thought to remove the stain magically, but that was not the case. James looked around, hoping the answer would be in front of him.

"You can have my shirt." He suggested, tugging his arms out of the sleeves.

"Oh, I couldn't." "Please. _I_ spilled the drink. It's the least I can do." He pulled the shirt over his head and handed it to her. She held it in her hands for a moment, deciding whether or not to put it on. In the end, she decided to slide her shirt off to lie in a crumpled heap on the ground, and the slid James' shirt over her head. It was slightly large on her, but she didn't mind. James smiled.

"It looks nice." He turned towards the door.

"Wait." Sarah called. James head spun around. "Where're you going?"

"Back to the common room."

"But, you can't go out there."

"Why not?"

"You don't have a shirt on. _I'm wearing it._ People will talk." James thought about it.

"Oh. Right. So, what? We just stay here?"

"I suppose so." James sat down on Sarah's bed, and Sarah sat next to him.

"Well, if that's the case, we'll have to stay here all night. The common room won't be empty until at least two in the morning."

"That late? Do you think?"

"On a night like this? Definitely."

"Okay, fine. What to you want to do?" she asked, her face only inches from his. He stared into her eyes.

"This." He replied, leaning in, his lips parted. Sarah knew this was a bad idea; she didn't do this. She didn't kiss James Potter when he was shirtless sitting on her bed. But something about the way his eyes held her in their gaze made her motionless. Her eyes fluttered shut as their lips made contact. She wasn't even aware of kissing him back, but she was.

James had been wanting that for such a long time. He didn't know what made him do it; perhaps it was the firewhiskey that was still in his system. But, whatever it was, fate or the magically enhanced alcohol, he was glad it happened. It felt right, like he belonged there, doing nothing but kissing her.

. . .

And as James stood there, in Sarah Addams' dormitory, the memories of their night returned to his head, he smiled. He dropped the shirt, turned around, and with a toothy grin, he walked back to Sarah, who was awaiting him under the blankets.

"Everything all right?" she asked. James kissed her forehead.

"Everything's perfect."

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**AN: **That's it. That's the end. I hope you like it. Reviews are a night with James Potter.

-M


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